A radio series gives voice to East Timorese stories of resistance to Indonesian occupation
Matt Abud
Lelo, a farmer in the eastern district of Los Palos, told of how he once carried an injured resistance leader Xanana Gusmao in a basket on his back, covered only by leaves.
On New Year's Day 2001, I watched the first sunrise together with some colleagues from the top of Mount Ramelau, the highest peak in East Timor. The mountain cast an arrow-like shadow to the west, and the whole country was laid out below us: northern and southern coasts, deep valleys rumpled together, dramatic mountain ridges criss-crossing each other all the way from the eastern coastal tip to the western border with Indonesia. It was a stunning view of a tiny country, where East Timor's Falintil guerrillas had fought a continuous war for independence ever since Indonesia's 1975 invasion. The view made me wonder how, with so little room to move, and pitted against an enormous military force, the guerrillas had kept their hopes alive for twenty-four years.
A year later, a bright young Timorese school student also confessed bewilderment. 'What did Falintil do, anyway?' she asked me 'They couldn't fight, they could only hide all the time.' It was January 2002, and six East Timorese colleagues and I were convening a discussion group at the student's school in Dili. We'd brought the discussion group together to clarify our own ideas, before starting on an ambitious story-telling project. In a few months, on 20 May 2002, East Timor was to gain full national independence. There was a great need for recognition and commemoration of the struggle and suffering that had led to the achievement of independence. Our seven-person team had been given the chance to produce a 12-part oral history radio documentary series, which would tell some of these stories. But what were the stories that people needed to hear?
Time to reflect
Our discussion group revealed that the students knew bits and pieces of their history - about the invasion, resistance, and massacres that took place in the 1970s - because their teacher had given them a project to talk to the older members of their families, and write up the stories. But they were largely unaware of events that had taken place throughout the 1980s, up until the Pope's 1989 visit and the Santa Cruz massacre in 1991. As we traveled around the country in the course of our work, people would tell us in great detail what had happened in their local area. But they didn't always know what was happening in other places, even though they commonly resisted the Indonesian occupation.
Certainly, information had been tightly controlled during the occupation. Within certain family and community networks, some stories were very well known. For example, primary-school students in the mountains were often aware of the Falintil guerrillas' activities in their area. But outside of those networks and areas, even with Timor's small, tight-knit population, oppression and suspicion kept many stories underground. After the Indonesian military's departure in 1999 these stories could now be shared with a wider, even national audience. Yet from 1999 onwards, the urgency of addressing material needs often meant there was no time for processes like storytelling, reflection, and other ways of dealing with a traumatic past.
When we talked to former resistance fighters, some were philosophical about East Timor's new reality, but many were disappointed or even bitter. Several of those who had fought as Falintil guerrillas, as well as those who had been part of civilian clandestine movement, had become marginalised in the economic difficulties and rapid changes that followed 1999's independence vote. Among a number of them, the absence of formal recognition has fuelled volatile frustrations and resentment.
For the East Timorese government, according such formal recognition presents something of a hot potato. Across the country a number of so-called 'security groups' have become established, and several observers say they could affect the country's stability. Many such groups claim strong resistance pedigree as the basis for their prestige; others dispute the veracity of those claims. For many reasons, social, political, and simply emotional, there has been a great need for Timor's memory and history to be gathered together and shared. When East Timor's independence began to draw close in 2002, non-government organisations, multinational funding agencies, resistance veterans and the UN administration, showed strong interest in making a start on this process. Beneath the aegis of a committee overseeing the demobilisation and reintegration of ex-Falintil guerrillas who hadn't been recruited into the defense force, they proposed an oral history radio documentary series that would begin broadcasting on Radio Untaet (which became Radio Timor Leste after 20 May 2002) in the lead up to independence.
We decided to call the program 'Tuba Rai Metin', which means Stand Your Ground. We put it together in Tetum, East Timor's national indigenous language (although with many other regional languages, it is not universally spoken). Radio, as an aural medium, also enhanced the material's reach. Tuba Rai Metin is therefore the first broadly accessible history of East Timor. As initially conceived, the series was to focus on the experience of the Falintil guerrillas, but this was quickly changed after many, including members of Falintil themselves, insisted on]the importance of telling how they worked together with the civilian clandestine movement.
Stories
People related stories of tragedy and strength, courage and comedy, and almost unvaryingly showed a great humility as they spoke about what they had seen and done. Lelo, a farmer in the eastern district of Los Palos, told of how he once carried an injured resistance leader Xanana Gusmao in a basket on his back, covered only by leaves. When Indonesian soldiers asked what the basket held he answered, 'Food for the pigs'. It was the same answer he gave his wife at home. She scolded him for putting the basket on the floor, only to be mortified with embarrassment when Xanana revealed himself.
Peregrinha, a young woman in the clandestine movement, recalled how she had intimidated East Timorese working for Indonesia's military by brandishing a pistol at them - a dangerous game of grass-roots brinkmanship which relied on nobody guessing the pistol was in reality a cigarette-lighter. Luis Katana recounted how he, together with colleagues, had jumped the US Embassy fence in Jakarta during the 1994 Apec meeting. He nearly didn't make it - Indonesian security forces grabbed his leg and were trying to pull him back to the Indonesian side of the fence. In the end, his friends on the other side, who had hold of his other leg, prevailed, and he dropped onto US soil.
People also told of how they communicated by hiding notes under a rock in the fields, to be collected after dark. Villagers explained how they left some leaves from their extra harvest turned over, as a signal to guerrillas for them to take it. Dogs were also an unsung weapon of the resistance - time and again sympathisers would call out to their dog, as a code to warn guerrillas in hiding that the military was approaching. In other warnings children threw rocks on the roofs of safe-houses, part of the games they were playing in the street, and an instant signal for those inside.
Knowledge empowers
Tuba Rai Metin was never an attempt to present a complete history. We did locate people's stories in rough chronological and thematic context, starting from 1975 through to the 1999 vote for independence. We aimed to put key points on the record, and to avoid emphasising any one historical phase over another. One powerful program included testimony from East Timorese who had lost family to internecine killings in the hills in the late-1970s, when Fretilin was the predominant authority. Another touched on splits between some Falintil commanders and Xanana Gusmao's leadership in the mid-1980s, which have ongoing ramifications today. In neither case did we attempt anything definitive, nor address in any great depth the many historical debates involved. But at least these parts of history could be put on the public record for a national audience.
This article is dedicated to Batista Canigio, Tuba Rai Metin team member who died of illness during the course of production.
Matthew Abud (mattabud@hotmail.com) has been working in radio in East Timor since 1999, and produced Tuba Rai Metin.
Representing history is a powerful issue of political legitimacy, in East Timor as much as anywhere else in the world. At its most obvious, current tensions between the Fretilin government and President Xanana Gusmao are contests for legitimacy at the national level. Fretilin places great store on its role leading the struggle in the seventies, and its enduring symbols, which command great loyalty, date from that era. Gusmao emphasises directions taken from the 1980s onwards when his own leadership began, which is held up as a more pluralist approach - and again, he and what he represents call up powerful loyalties. These differences were wrestled over during the resistance and many resulting splits are still alive and potent today. It is often difficult for East Timorese people (and international observers), who are not familiar with this history, and therefore have difficulty understanding contemporary East Timorese politics.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Indonesian journalists attend a peace journalism training workshop in Manado
Jake Lynch
Indonesian journalists have the advantage over most of their Western counterparts in at least one respect - experience of frontline conflict coverage.
As recent training workshops with Indonesian journalists reveal, by contrast, that many have indeed been close to violence and now carry, seared into their minds, some terrible sights and experiences from the conflicts that have scarred so many parts of the country in recent years.
In late 2002, more than 200 Indonesian journalists, including reporters and editors from SCTV, RCTI, Kompas and the Antara news agency participated in peace journalism training workshops in Jakarta, Surabaya, Makassar and Manado. The workshops were part of a broader peace journalism project, which the author helped to run, and which were developed in conjunction with the British Council, as well as several Indonesian media reform groups, and funded by the British Embassy.
The Manado leg of the trip comprised a workshop for journalists from north Maluku, as well as a field trip where participants from national news organisations filed reports for their own newsdesks, with trainers acting as consultants, encouraging them to think about how their reporting would contribute to a wider understanding of peacebuilding concepts in Indonesia.
With a plentiful supply of conflict zones to choose from, why, then, did we end up in Manado for a field trip in Peace Journalism, where we worked alongside journalists from leading news organisations as they filed reports aimed at helping Indonesian society to seek peaceful solutions to conflicts?
Peaceful conflict
Manado, the capital of North Sulawesi, is, after all, known as one of the safest places in Indonesia. In fact, Manado offers important lessons about both conflict and peace, for North Sulawesi has managed to avoid the violence engulfing its neighbours. In North Maluku and Ambon to the east, and Poso to the south, Muslims and Christians ended up at each other's throats - but not here.
Across the Celebes sea lie the troubled southern provinces of the Philippines - Mindanao, Basilan and Jolo, fingered in the War on Terror as strongholds of Muslim separatism and Abu Sayyaf kidnappers. And what's this in Manado, revealed to the more careful observer? Look again, and the cupolas of the occasional Mosque - less conspicuous but still numerous - are visible on the skyline. This colourful, vibrant, thriving city has different strokes for different folks.
What's at stake for such a community is not the absence of conflict but the capacity to respond to conflict issues with non-violent means. The word, 'conflict' is often used, in news reports, as a synonym for fighting or violence. Understanding the difference is crucial to peace journalism. In an analytical sense, conflict simply means two or more parties pursuing incompatible goals.
If, in order to avoid a repetition of the harrowing scenes witnessed by many Indonesian journalists, we required an absence of conflict, we would be condemned to perennial disappointment. The peace journalists descended on Manado to try to find out how this beautiful city has managed to live with conflict, within and without - and yet avoided lapsing into the kind of violence that has afflicted surrounding areas across a radius of hundreds of miles. Peace, in Manado, is something that many people are actively working at, all the time.
These active people include religious leaders, coming together to give messages of tolerance and mutual understanding to their followers. Relief agencies have worked to prevent the trauma brought to North Sulawesi, in the minds of thousands of refugees from North Maluku, from festering, and potentially inflaming religious sensibilities in Manado itself. The peace journalists will never forget the sight and sound of Christian children, singing Christian songs in a refugee camp, led by a Muslim teacher wearing a headscarf (jilbab).
Good news and hard news
In the hands of the more creative reporters, interviews with these children, about their hopes and experiences, became the basis for wonderful stories, full of imaginative connections and arresting images, which contain much of the music of today's Indonesia. These were great pieces of peace journalism - real contributions to the understanding we will need if a more peaceful future is to lie ahead.
Most editors would still think of these as 'features', but there was no shortage of 'hard news' in Manado either. This was the time of the Bali bomb, and Manado had its own explosion on the same night. Its location - outside the Philippines consulate - seemed to portend infiltration by outsiders, intent on drawing Manado into political struggles which have taken on a religious overtone.
The incident did draw a show of strength from the city's famous militia groups; prominent among them, Brigade Manguni, the 'Night Owls' of North Sulawesi. Their rampage through the streets, hundreds clinging to open-topped vehicles, wearing black t-shirts and shouting at the top of their voices, looked both spectacular and slightly sinister - it certainly made dramatic TV pictures.
Listen carefully to these people, though, and they project a sort of muscular communitarianism, which may not be as threatening as their appearance suggests. What would they do, if, for instance, any of their members discovered 'outsiders' in Manado? Why, hand them over to the police, of course. If they keep their word - and the signs are that, so far, broadly speaking, they have - then that would at least represent a step forward from the situation in other, more troubled parts.
In Poso, for instance, the trigger incident for the first round of rioting came when a Muslim man, injured in a street brawl with Christian youths, ran instead into a local Mosque to rouse fellow believers to take revenge. One pervasive form of structural violence in Indonesia is a lack of impartial and transparent law enforcement - so people don't trust or feel they can rely on the police. The militias in Manado were formed amid suspicions that Laskar Jihad was plotting to cause trouble. In a sense, tseirs could be a positive response - 'OK, let's give the police a helping hand, as vigilant and active citizens'.
There are dangers to this situation of course, to do with 'in-group' and 'out-group' politics. Who decides who belongs here and who does not; and how? Police were just beginning to carry out sweeps for ID cards, something the militias have been calling for, but there were fears that this could prove divisive. Word on the street was that, if you really wanted an ID card, you had to pay considerably more than the official going rate of Rp 5,000, or face an interminable wait. Those without proper accreditation were likely to be the poor, like refugees who now cling to one of the lowest rungs of the economic ladder as street vendors.
In Ethnic Conflict & Civic Life, Ashutosh Varshney, an Indian political scientist based at the University of Michigan, offers a sociological profile of 'Peaceful Cities' in India, which identifies several common characteristics. One is that members of different sections of the communi$y mingle freely in civic society.
In Manado, we met a group of volleyball players - some Christian, some Muslim; their game taking place in the shadow of one of the city's most beautiful churches, with a local religious leader (ulama) among the spectators. Equally, we discovered journalists making their own contribution. In Ambon, notoriously, the giant Jawa Pos group runs both a Christian and a Muslim newspaper, each of which has often adopted a strident sectarian stance. Here, there is just one Jawa Pos group newspaper, the Manado Post, and every day it has a double-page spread called Teropong - 'Lens' in English - devoted to cross-cutting religious issues. Christian, Islamic and other religious figures are equally at home here; a Muslim and a Christian journalist form the dynamic two-person team responsible for it.
Jake Lynch (JakeMLynch@aol.com) helped run the Peace Journalism project, and was one of the trainers at the Manado workshop.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Civilians demand a part in Aceh's peace process
Kautsar
On 9 December 2002, representatives of the Indonesian government and the Free Aceh Movement (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka or GAM) signed an agreement for a 'Cessation of Hostilities' (CoH) at a meeting in Geneva, Switzerland. The agreement was reached after a long series of negotiations between the two sides which began in early 2000 during the presidency of Abdurrahman Wahid. This has been a long and exhausting process which has produced both great hope and shattering disappointment in the past. In mid-2000 the two sides agreed to a 'humanitarian pause,' leading to a dramatic decrease in violence. Within weeks, however, the agreement began to break down and before long violence had reached an unparalleled intensity. Between January and November last year alone, according to the Aceh Commission for Disappearances and Victims of Violence (KontraS), over 1,300 people were killed.
In conflicts like that in Aceh, it is frequently only the views of the armed parties which are heard. This article presents one viewpoint from Acehnese civil society.
In addition to agreeing to a ceasefire, in very general terms, the recent peace negotiations on Aceh made three hopeful steps toward finding lasting peace in the territory. Firstly, the two sides recognised that it is crucial to build trust in order to stop conflict. Secondly, they recognised the need for freedom of political expression in civil society. Thirdly, they established a Joint Security Committee, consisting of Indonesian military (TNI), GAM, and foreign (Thai and Filipino) military representatives which will take responsibility for monitoring and decision-making in the technical matters related to the ceasefire. During the 'humanitarian pause' in 2000, there was no international involvement in the monitoring process. Moreover, the Henry Dunant Centre (HDC), the Swiss-based non-government organisation which has facilitated the talks has been upgraded to a 'mediator' role, and now has the authority to sanction violations of the agreement.
There were other positive signs, compared to previous negotiations. For the first time, prior to their commencement, the talks were widely publicised on the internet and in the mass media, both in Indonesia and overseas. In particular, the talks attracted more international interest than ever. A number of Western diplomats were present at the signing of the Agreement, and on 3 December 2002, even before the talks commenced, potential international donors gathered in Japan to start planning financial support for Aceh's reconstruction. Delegates to the conference recognised that if the peace process is to work, Aceh's civilian population must be at the centre of plans for Aceh's future.
Also for the first time, both GAM and the TNI consulted with civilian organisations prior negotiating with each other, and used issues raised at these consultations as reference material for the talks.
The agreement also provides means for victims of violence which takes place during the CoH to complain to the JSC (which is headed by a Thai military officer), which is then empowered to investigate. This means that the public has direct access to the structures responsible for maintaining peace, without being hampered by complex bureaucracies. Previously, complainants had to appeal to either GAM or the TNI, which were then responsible for reporting complaints to the JSC, although they rarely did so.
In spite of these positive steps, some sections of Acehnese civil society remain critical of the Agreement. A meeting facilitated by the Acehnese Civil Society Task Force in Banda Aceh on 16 December 2002, aimed to provide a forum for civilians to express their views on how peace should be implemented. Participants in the meeting wanted the international community to understand that the agreement only represents a first stage, not a final stage, in the resolution of conflict in Aceh. Civilian institutions are also eager for the UN to send a team to investigate human rights violations in Aceh. Most importantly, however, they are anxious to ensure their integral involvement in the implementation of any long-term peace plan.
Resolving human rights violations
Over the past 25 years, the majority of the 10,000 victims of the conflict have been civilians. Countless other civilians have been victims of human rights violations, all of which are yet to be properly investigated. Investigation of human rights violations, and a just resolution for victims (for instance, trials of human rights perpetrators) will engender public trust and optimism about the present peace process, and will help avoid future impunity.
Release of political prisoners
The detention of political prisoners and prisoners of war in Aceh is also an ongoing problem. Many people are still detained for their political beliefs, and many prisoners of war are still held at military posts. The Indonesian government and GAM therefore need to free all such persons, both to ensure civil and political liberties and to engender trust between the two parties.
Public participation in efforts to maintain a ceasefire
Like previous peace plans, the current agreement is laid out in very general terms. This means that the Joint Security Committee needs to specify more clearly how the ceasefire is going to be maintained, and how the peace process will move forward. This will require the two parties entering into further discussions in order to flesh out and agree upon the technical aspects of the peace plan. Civil institutions need to be able to participate in such discussions in order to ensure the plan's success.
The Indonesian government's attempts to interpret the Peace Agreement in accordance with its own political interests could also prove to be a significant obstacle. For example, a day after the signing of the agreement, Coordinating Minister for Security and Political Affairs, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, announced that GAM had accepted 'special autonomy' (a formula set down in a law passed for the province by the national parliament in 2001), and that the war would soon end. By this he meant that GAM had effectively given up on its long-held aim of Acehnese independence, something the movement's leaders vehemently deny. The Indonesian government also publicised its own version of the Agreement (which vastly different from the actual agreement). Such misinformation only serves to exacerbate tension.
What is even worse, also a day after the signing of the agreement, the Indonesian military increased the number of its posts in civilian residential areas. This has caused great unease among civilians. In East and North Aceh, people have fled their homes for fear of military reprisals. Clearly, the military's actions are quite at odds with the spirit of the peace agreement, which requires both parties to start building an atmosphere of trust, conducive to longer term resolution of the conflict.
Kautsar (redsky767@yahoo.com) is a spokesperson for a group of representatives of Acehnese civil society organisations who attended the negotiations in Switzerland in December 2002. They intend to monitor the implementation of the peace deal on the ground.
Life in an Acehnese jail
Lesley McCulloch
On 10 September 2002, Lesley McCulloch wasarrested in Aceh with her friend Joy Lee Sadler and their Indonesian translator,Fitrah, and charged with visa violations, which she denied. She was heldin jail for over two months before her trial, which concluded when shewas sentenced to five months jail on 30 December, then released on 9 February.McCulloch's case is significant because it is unusual for foreigners accusedof visa violations to be detained for such a long period, rather than simplydeported. It is widely believed that the Indonesian military meant to makean example of McCulloch, an academic who has been critical of the TNI'srole in Aceh. In the foallowing account, which she wrote following the departureof her cell mates, she details prison life.
Arrested in a remote corner of South Aceh on 10September, Joy and I were suspected of violating our tourist visas. Thebus on which we were travelling was stopped at an Indonesian checkpoint.The aggressive and poorly-trained officers requested that we open our bags.Distrustful of their intentions, we insisted on placing a call to the USor UK embassy to inform them of what had become a very volatile situation.
In the same manner in which they would deal withthe local people - and having no idea how else to address the situation- the local commander became physically aggressive as he tried to separateme from my bag. Joy's response was immediate, she came to my defence; atwhich point a small fight ensued. The injury to Joy's mouth, inflictedby the commander, had not healed by the time she was released in mid-January.
For four days we were detained in South Aceh policeHQ. There were no further beatings in the police station, but the interrogationand intimidation was itself tortuous. Joy and I refused to sign the fabricatedstatements that were the result of this interrogation process. Our Acehnesecompanion, Fitrah did sign her statement. She was afraid and we understoodher fear. Joy and I were somewhat protected by our foreignness.
Me were then transported, in a convoy of 10 trucks,to Medan, North Sumatra.
On arrival in Medan, we were photographedand our fingerprints taken. Indonesian intelligence officers were alsowaiting to question us. We were tired, and Fitrah and Joy were both sick.But all requests to end the interrogation were refused.
It was 2am when I suddenly became acutely awarethat my clarity of mind was perhaps not all it should be. I became afraidI might say something which would prove problematic later. So, I lay onthe floor and closed my eyes as if asleep. The other two took the cue andadopted similar uncooperative positions. We did not respond to the ragethat followed. The interrogation was over.
Banda Aceh
Arriving in Banda Aceh the following day by plane,we were taken to provincial police HQ in Polda. Our accommodation for thenext three months was a windowless office. Further interrogation producedinsufficient evidence to convict us of the espionage-related charges calledfor by the military and police in Jakarta, but those months were a timeof extreme stress. Uncertainty and intimidation filled each day.
Our arrival at the jail was quite spectacular.An entourage of friends and activists, four lawyers and embassy staff camewith us. Joy had insisted on bringing four kittens and the mother cat thathad been sharing our room at Polda. All were accepted graciously by thestaff at the jail. And so we became just two more among 117 prisoners,only seven of whom were women.
Daily routine
The women's section of the prison is a tiny outsidearea with only two cells. Each one measures approximately three by fivemetres. Three of us shared that space; half of the cell was taken up bythe bed - a raised concrete platform with raffia mats. In the corner, thereis a squat toilet with a small concrete tank of water for flushing. Thewater comes from a communal tap outside. There is no shower or bathroom,and even as I write, seven weeks after our arrival, I have yet to cometo terms with brushing my teeth over a squat toilet.
A window and the open door allow daylight in.And one dim light bulb hangs from an almost deadly electrical cable. Turningthe bulb in the socket gives light, but almost invariably also gives abad electric shock. I have had several blistered fingers and throbbingarms from the evil socket. But much of the time there is no electricity,and at night we sit by candlelight.
The temperature in the cell is often unbearable,so too are the mosquitoes. There are also flying ants, cockroaches andmice sharing this tiny space. Sometimes it becomes rather crowded!
There is a small coffee stall, staffed by oneof the prisoners. Acehnese coffee is delicious; strong, black, and forme, unsweetened. It fortifies me for the day ahead. When the others werestill here, we would sit outside for our first discussion of the day, drinkingcoffee and occasionally eating a small block of tofu for breakfast. Talksrevolved around how well we had slept, and whether good health or sicknesswas predicted for the coming day.
If there was any water early we would drink ourcoffee more quickly and there would be a flurry of water-based activities.We took it in turns to collect a bucket of water and shower. The otherssat outside, allowing just a little privacy in the day.
Solidarity
When Joy was still here, much of the day was busywith discussing and dealing with issues surrounding her ill-health andhunger strike. We were afraid, as Joy's health visibly deteriorated inthe unsanitary and hot conditions. By day 37 of her hunger strike she wasin desperate need of intravenous nourishment. But the local hospitals wereunwilling to help because she was HIV-positive. On day 38 of her hungerstrike (3 January), Joy told me: 'I feel so weak, I want to go to sleepand never wake up.' This frightened both of us and Joy decided to try tostart her own intravenous drip. She is a nurse. In my diary that day Iwrote: 'I feel so desperate about Joy. It really was quite pathetic tosee her failed attempts to start an IV in her collapsed veins. This causeddistress to all of us. Only Dewi cried, whilst the rest of us stood insilence.'
The heat would make Joy's condition much worse.Dewi would sit and fan Joy for several hours. They would sit in silence.Joy spoke no Indonesian and Dewi no English. And Irawati massaged Joy'saches and pains in the same silent way, making soothing noises as she didso. It was really quite moving to see this silent show of solidarity andsympathy.
Slow
Unlike the men, the women are placed here to awaittrial, but once sentenced, sent to Lho'gna prison, about 17km from here.Only Joy and I were not moved to Lho'gna after sentencing. Our lawyershad requested that we be allowed to remain here in Banda Aceh. All wereafraid for my safety if transferred to Lho'gna. There are many militaryposted in that area, and by all accounts the anger that had fuelled theirearlier call that espionage charges be brought against me continues tosimmer. It is much better I remain at a distance.
The trial process is very slow and all the womenhad been in this prison for several months. With usually only one shorttrial a week, the length of this process is itself the cause of much stress.Even the most minor cases stretch out over two months. Of the seven women,three of us - Reihan, Joy and I - were political cases; Mar's was conflictrelated; and the other three were gambling and fraud. Reihan had decriedPresident Megawati at a demonstration she helped to organise. When shewas finally sentenced to six months in jail, she only had two more weeksto serve.
On days when one of us had a trial there was alwaysan air of solidarity and optimism. We would gather to hug and wish goodluck to whoever was going to court. Their return was eagerly awaited. Ifnews was good, it would lift all our spirits.
Sickness and depression
The sickness and depression suffered by many isa product of prison life. A doctor comes occasionally, but not each week,to dispense some basic medicines and write prescriptions for anything strong.Most, however, have no money to buy the medicines provided. The water usedby the men to bathe, comes from a very old (and smelly) well. Many haveopen and infected sores because of the parasites in the water. Lethargyand fever is common.
One young prisoner is in urgent need of an operation.He was shot in the foot four months ago and this foot is now badly infectedand he can hardly walk, the pain visible on his face. But the all-powerfulprosecutors won't give permission for him to be hospitalised until aftersentencing, perhaps one more month. The reason? He is too poor to pay therequested 'fee'. Bribery in the judicial system and the impact this hason the length of prison term, ill-health and stress is a favourite topicof conversation.
Alone
I am here alone now. Three of the other femaleprisoners, including Joy, have been released. The remainder have been sentto another prison. My days are very similar but much quieter, lonelierand, so it seems, longer. When Dewi, an Indonesian cellmate, and Joy werehere, I would be careful not to waken them. Sleep for all of us was alwaysat a premium. Now I have the luxury of this space all to myself. Some ofthe male prisoners tell me I have the jail's five-star accommodation. Theyare crowded four to seven people in one cell.
I have found solace in writing my diary. But thestories of human misery and tragedy I have heard in prison, made worseby the corrupt and inhumane judicial system, are at times too much to comprehend.In an attempt to relieve some of the stress, I focus on my diary.
Now, alone by day and night, I write much more.Of course, I have visitors and male prisoners still come to the fence tochat. But sometimes, the days and nights are long. I write more, not onlybecause I am alone but because I feel a sense of urgency in my writing.I don't want to forget anything about my time here.
I cannot quite believe I have successfully hiddenmy phone since being arrested. I made only one attempt to recharge it here.The loud bang wakened Joy and Dewi. And the surge of electricity that ranthrough my body almost killed me. So my phone is smuggled in and out bysome very brave friends. At night I can keep in touch with my family andfriends. Previously I fed information about our case to those campaigningfor us on the outside. Now I make arrangements for my free life, next week.
I have never been in another Indonesian prison,but I imagine the experience in many would be much worse. The poor livingconditions, bad diet, lack of exercise and now being alone have all takentheir toll. But throughout I have tried to focus on the positive. A favouredword here is simpan. It means store for later, and I have becomevery expert at that. I am mentally ticking off the days to my release,but each day is the same as those in the past seven weeks. I think aboutthe ninth too often. Time seems to have stopped and each minute, each hourstretches forever. So, I continue to chat, to write and drink the deliciousAcehnese coffee. My release is imminent, but I don't believe it. And asI walk through the front gates of the prison, I can imagine that a smallpart of my heart and mind will remain here with my friends.
Lesley McCulloch (lesleym@postoffice.utas.edu.au) is a Research Associate at the Department of Anthropology,Monash University.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
A deep local tradition of tolerance defends against militancy
The Hon Justice Marcus Einfeld AO QC PhD
It is clear that we have entered a new and dangerous phase of horror in human relations. This phase has necessarily drawn Indonesia, Australia and the whole of our region into the nucleus of the struggle.
Indonesia was aware that she needed to get tougher on terrorists - all of us knew that we should take more determined action to deal with the terrorist curse.
But this is not the time to lay blame in the crude sense of the word. It is time to work in unison to protect our world from the malevolence of terrorists and their brutal exploits. Our strategy must be twofold. We must pull out all stops to root out the criminals committed to and involved in the wholesale murder of civilians, put them on trial, and punish the guilty. And we must also look to the issues which allow fanatics to arouse and inflame the passions of those who would commit dastardly crimes.
Hopefully the Indonesian authorities will find the political and public support to clamp down heavily on extremists linked to terrorism. President Megawati's task is arduous and unenviable, but she really has only one choice.
The greatest defence against militancy in Indonesia is the deep local tradition of moderation and tolerance.
The vilification of Muslims since these attacks is a disgrace. What pedigree of humanity are we, to typecast a substantial portion of the world's population because a few of its number have committed atrocities? All religions have something to answer for in terms of violence and atrocities. Islamic nations have not decided to attack all Christians or commit general acts of pestilence akin to that which occurred in Bali. Has the lesson of Hitler's genocide of Jews not yet been learnt?
But as Bali grieves, and we all grieve for what it now stands for, not even the venerated intelligence agencies the world over can supply convincing proof that al Qaeda was involved in it, or even who and what that organisation is. In the face of such an elusive foe, logic is the first casualty. Better co-ordination between the Indonesian police and military is essential in reducing contradiction. If the army takes the lead role and undermines all the work that has been done in the last three years to build up the police as a civilian agency responsible for internal security, the stronger will develop the idea that the army was somehow involved in the bombings in the first place and the more the scepticism of an al Qaeda role.
We must also review the tenacity of our relationship with the US. Must the American dream manifest itself in the form of civilian bloodshed? The deaths we have witnessed in Indonesia were ugly, divisive and pointless. Are we about to be again forced to watch nightclubs, shopping centres or schools being bombed in Baghdad? Will the disarming of Saddam Hussein be achieved over the bodies of taxi drivers, shopkeepers and shoppers, mothers taking their children to school? Will it be achieved at all?
It is time for us all to look for a durable, feasible and sustainable international solution to Muslim extremism. Any solution will necessarily be found outside of war. Despite the extraordinary statement of US Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld that compared to Iraq, the Israel/Palestinian dispute is a 'sideshow', a settlement of that conflict is not the only solution but it is a necessary pre-requisite to a solution to Muslim extremism and militancy. The consequence of failure is more bloodshed and suffering. The dividend of success is too obvious to need stating.
We must commit ourselves to move forward towards a future free from terror, where tolerance for disparate cultures spans the globe and the safety of people free from hate becomes the religion of us all.
The Hon Justice Marcus Einfeld AO QC can be reached at einfeldm@ozemail.com.au
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
An innovative shadow puppet show combats post-traumatic stress disorder in Bali
Rucina Ballinger
Following the fatal bomb blast in Kuta in October 2002, relief, in the form of medical support and money, flooded onto the island. But after the first few weeks of emergency care, Bali residents active in relief efforts began to think about what else could be done to help the victims - not only economically and physically, but emotionally and spiritually, too.
In the aftermath of the blast, people began to show signs of post-traumatic stress disorder (Ptsd). Those living in and around Kuta were of particular concern, and the prevalence of Ptsd among them spawned an idea to use shadow puppet performances (wayang) in order to disseminate information about Ptsd to local people.
As the idea developed, I Made Sidia -- a puppeteer (dalang) whose work is well known for its cutting political commentaries, became involved. Sidia gathered together a team of very creative people, and his production improvised on traditional wayang in a number of ways. Firstly, the musical accompaniment to Sidia's production included flutes, percussive instruments and a keyboard. Secondly, instead of using the traditional oil lamp (blancong) that illuminates the screen and the puppets, he computerised the show by calling upon his colleague, Dewa Made Darmawan, to create Power Point images. Thirdly, the screen was extended to three metres in width. Traditionally, dalangs sit cross-legged behind the screens no wider than their arm span. This means that they can march puppets across the screen without moving from their seated position. Sidia's wide-screen forced the dalangs to slide across the floor as they marched their puppets from one side of his wide screen to the other. To ease their mobility, Sidia had them sit on skateboards.
Nyoman Sira, Sidia's brother, made a number of new puppets out of plastic, thus adding yet another novel element to the show. Sira's puppets move beautifully and include some three-dimensional puppets which transform with the flick of a wrist into another being. One is an old woman who turns into a witch, and a favourite among audiences is a man on a giant bicycle, wheels spinning, being chased by a monkey.
For this production, Sidia chose a story called 'The Ten Names of Peace' (Dasa Nama Kerta). The story reminds viewers that demons live within each and every one of us, and we must confront and conquer them. We meet people who have lost loved ones in the bomb blast of 12 October 2002. A mother who has lost her only child (and thereby her only bread-winner), a pre-schooler whose mother was killed, a macho security guard who has lost his lust for his wife and his life, a man who is constantly sick with headaches and stomach upsets. Two clowns of the wayang, Merdah and Twalen, listen to these people's tales of woe and comfort them.
At the end of the wayang, Twalen and Merdah advise that the ten elements of peace -- earth, water, fire, wind, plants, animals, fish birds, humans and God - must be cherished, nurtured and controlled. If not, things may get out of hand, causing floods, forest fires, or even bomb blasts.
The first live show in Kuta on 12 December 2002, was very warmly received. There have also been performances in Ubud, Bona and Kepaon, Denpasar, which is home to a number of taxi drivers who were killed by the bomb. A psychiatrist introduces the show and disseminates information about Ptsd to audience members, who are also invited to stay on after the show, meet the dalang, see how the computer and the skateboards work and, if they want to, speak with the doctors.
Additional free psychiatric and psychological counselling with Dr Nyoman Sura Oka at the International Medical Corps (IMC) is available for Indonesians. Tel. (62 361) 229092.
Rucina Ballinger (rucina@indo.net.id) has been active in cultural and artistic exchange projects in Bali over the past two decades.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Ritual purification ceremonies have dominated Balinese recovery efforts
Graeme MacRae
Most Balinese of my acquaintance, a few urban intellectuals aside, have until recently believed deeply in a view of their island as a haven of unique peace and tranquility in a world apparently racked by disorder, conflict and violence. Much of this, in their view, is caused by (non-Hindu) religion and/or lack of religion altogether. Their own uniquely privileged position they see as blessings bestowed on them by the gods of Bali, which are in turn a result of their own unique devotion to the correct forms of ritual. This belief in ritual causation is perhaps related to their distrust of human political endeavour, and this distrust has emerged in locals' recovery efforts in a post-bomb Bali. These efforts have focussed on restoring spiritual balance through ritual purification ceremonies, which reinforce an inherently apolitical Balinese self-image.
Collective amnesia
Bali has a long history of political conflict and violence. Understandably, older generations of Balinese, whose early lives were lived in frequent fear and real danger, prefer not to remember too much of this history. But the present generation - those born since about 1960 - know little of it, and subscribe to a sanitised, secondhand version of their own culture and history, in which 'politics' (politik) is a dirty word. What they know as 'Balinese culture' is built on images of the island as a place apart from the troubles of the world, a place of natural beauty, artistic creativity, spectacular dance and ritual performance. These images have roots in political expediencies of the Dutch colonial state in the aftermath of their bloody invasion of Bali a century ago, and have flourished and developed in close symbiotic relationship with the world tourism industry since. Contemporary Balinese culture has been built on a kind of collective amnesia about certain aspects of its own history.
Balinese responses to the many recent instances of political violence in Indonesia are revealing of this amnesia. Balinese I spoke to immediately after the turbulent events leading to the downfall of Suharto in 1998 and the electoral riots of 1999, were deeply shocked by such violence so close to home and insisted that it was an aberration nothing to do with them: it was the fruits of politik from elsewhere - Jakarta, or Java generally, or if it happened in Bali, the work of outside provocateurs from places more inclined to the 'political'. Their own (and by implication 'Balinese') priorities by contrast, were on two things only: their livelihoods, which were dependent to varying degrees on tourism, and their religious practice, on which both tourism and their livelihoods ultimately depended anyway. They believed that they were being unfairly punished for the inevitable consequences of the political activities of other people.
Familiar pattern
So far, local reactions to the Kuta bombing seems to have followed a very similar pattern. That is, Balinese people's responses to the bombing reveal that this apolitical self-image endures.
In media reports and personal communications with friends and acquaintances in the aftermath of the bomb, the following pattern emerges. Firstly, locals' horror at the sheer human tragedy was followed quickly by a chorus of outrage that such an atrocity could have been perpetrated in Bali, and an insistence that it must be the work of outsiders. People also insisted that the bombing must have been motivated by jealousy and a desire to damage the reputation and economy of Bali, and that it was the result of political machinations of non-Balinese origin.
As acceptance of the awful reality set in, reflections on deeper causes of the tragedy emerged. Many began to see it as a result of deficiencies in their own performance of ritual, and a kind of punishment for allowing the kind of immoral and 'un-Balinese' development that the nightclub strip of Kuta represented.
Certainly, there have been many practical responses, including efforts to assist in both the immediate relief effort and ongoing assistance to the many and under-reported local victims. But the main priorities for Balinese seem to have remained the need for massive investment in ritual purification at a range of sites. This is indeed normal Balinese practice in response to death and/or misfortune of any kind, but it was intensified in proportion to the magnitude of the disaster. There has also been a deep concern for the economic consequences and the future of tourism, ranging from the direst of predictions to assurances of imminent recovery and the need for immediate reconstruction.
Some Balinese people have suggested the bomb may present an unwelcome but perhaps valuable opportunity to rethink the kind of future the people of Bali want. It remains to be seen whether these questions will remain on the agenda for public debate or be submerged beneath the familiar tides of tourist industry rhetoric and associated religious fervour.
Graeme MacRae (G.S.Macrae@massey.ac.nz) teaches Anthropology at Massey University in New Zealand.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
After the bomb, community tourism needs a boost
Sherry Kasman-Entus
'Our biggest worry is that the post-bomb 'recovery' program will succeed. Those who speak of 'recovery' talk only numbers - a return to the pre-bomb number of tourists. Bali is getting a lot of free advertising from this bombing. If the tourism industry recovers successfully, even more visitors could come than before, and this has the potential to wreck Bali.'
-Nyoman Suma Artha, Eka Sari
In the aftermath of the Bali bombing, local government and industry leaders formulated a four-stage tourism recovery plan in the interests of rescuing and expanding the island's tourism industry. Official sources project that through these recovery efforts, the number of foreign arrivals will return to pre-bomb levels by the end of this year, and pre-bomb growth rates resume by mid-2004.
Questions of how long the tourism economy will take to recover mask a more troubling set of questions about the sustainability of pre-bomb tourism industry growth which, long before the bomb, had already begun threatening the well being of most of the people who call this island home.
In 2001, tourism provided direct employment to 38 per cent of Bali's workforce and contributed 51 per cent of Bali's income. However, most of Bali's population is spread through rural villages far from the tourism centres, and the majority is employed in other sectors, including over 40 per cent in agriculture. A huge amount of the tourism revenue leaks into the pockets of outside investors. Farmland conversion, forest clearing, coastal development and pressures on water resources associated with the toUrism infrastructure have had devastating environmental impacts. Bali's traditional (adat) communities, based on subsistence agriculture and the ritual maintenance of harmony between people, gods and nature, are the backbone of the culture that is Bali's key tourist attraction. Yet past tourism master plans have been largely determined by outsiders, relegating adat communities to the status of objects of the tourist gaze, and preventing them from taking charge of their own development.
Many Balinese people viewed the tragedy as an opportunity to rethink the island's development priorities. When the wheels of the industry came to a grinding halt, Balinese authorities acknowledged that beyond short term tourism recovery, they would need to make long term plans to diversify the economy. Local activists declared the crisis a blessing in disguise, calling for more radical shifts. Many local activists have stressed the need to build a better quality of life for local people, based on equity, ecology, spirituality and empowered communities. The question is, how can this be realised on the ground?
Some community-based tourism initiatives, of which there are a dozen or more in Bali today, are helping to achieve this. They were not born of the bomb, but they may point the way to recovery from the unhealthy realities and misleading images of Bali that the bomb exploded.
Three of these initiatives are overviewed below. Each is unique, but all share common ground. They conceive of the tourist destination as a space where host and guest interact. Moreover, tourism is only one part of a strategy for sustainable change aiming to enhance the well being of the community in its environment.
Beraban Selemadeg: Ten years ago, this coastal rice-farming village was zoned for tourism development in government spatial plans. This was followed by mass protests against the Bali Nirwana Resort (BNR) in nearby Tanah Lot, because of its location beside a sacred Hindu temple and its wholesale expropriation of land from local farmers. This sequence of events prompted a dozen Beraban villagers to start a community tourism group. By bringing tourism into the village and managing it on their own terms, they hoped to enhance local employment opportunities, while protecting their land and traditions from the commercialisation and dislocations occurring elsewhere in Bali.
Entirely self-funded, they have developed a 28-room homestay network and a cultural immersion program to introduce visitors to their architecture, cooking, rituals, music and farming practices. Future plans include community training in hospitality and conservation, a return to organic rice agriculture, and the establishment of an irrigation society (subak) museum as a focal point of village tourism.
Eka Sari: Living on the edge of West Bali National Park, the villagers of Eka Sari depend on this forest, one of Bali's last rainforests, for their livelihoods. Due to the economic crisis and rising demands for hardwoods for the export furniture market, Eka Sari became a key exit point for illegal logging. By 2000, tree depletion, water loss and soil erosion posed serious problems for local farmers.
Alarmed at this trend, Nyoman Suma Artha, an Eka Sari native, organised a village training with a local non-government organisation Indonesian Development of Education and Permaculture (Idep). As a result, a group of farmers started a poly-culture farm; the local wood-processing plant was shut down; women opened outlets selling organic farm support products; schools and homes initiated competitions for the best kitchen and medicinal gardens, and village youth organised tree-planting trips into the forest. This has since become a regular program involving 15 regional high schools.
Nyoman has launched a forest conservation club aiming to create a ring of protection around the forest by engaging all 26 border communities in a conservation and community development 'contest'. This year, five more communities are participating, starting with training designed to give them information and tools to innovate new livelihood strategies, including tourism enterprises featuring farm stays, forest trekking and tree planting activities.
Perancak: Bali has long been the hub of a vast sea turtle trade network, and Perancak, a fishing village on the southwest coast, was once renowned for its turtle-hunters. Escalating trade in turtle products, coupled with rapid beach development and destructive fishing, had driven the turtles almost extinct by 1996. Then the Worldwide Fund for Nature (WWF) opened a Bali branch for a save-the-turtle campaign, and reached out to adat leaders for help. In 1997, the first nesting turtle in 37 years returned to Perancak. These two events inspired Wayan Tirta, an adatKurma Asih (Turtle Lovers), a group of 20 fishermen who joined forces with WWF to restore Perancak as a turtle habitat. leader of Perancak, to form
WWF phased out the prgram in 2002, and Kurma Asih is carrying on alone, determined to overcome steep challenges of insufficient funding and beach abrasion, along with the continuing black market in turtles in south Bali. They hope to raise community participation and external support to further develop local eco-tourism as a way to supplement local incomes, and support research and rehabilitation of the beach ecosystem.
Balinese community-based tourism is clearly an idea whose time has come.
Let us hope that it will not be lost in the momentum of a return to 'business as usual'.
Sherry Kasman-Entus (sherry@indosat. net.id) lives in Bali, where she designs and facilitates study tours in collaboration with local communities. She is currently completing a MA in Development Studies through Murdoch University.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Civil society intervenes in multilateral aid meeting
Ngurah Karyadi
In January 2003, the Consultative Group on Indonesia (CGI) met in Bali and concluded with US$2.7 billion pledge in disbursements for 2003. CGI is a consortium of government representatives and donor agencies, convened by the World Bank, which meets annually to pledge aid disbursements to Indonesia. When it met on 21 and 22 January 2003, the Indonesian government lobbied CGI for additional aid to assist with recovery from the Bali bombing. Ngurah Karyadi attended the meeting as a civil society observer for the Indonesians People's Forum, and presented the following intervention. The 12 October bombing in Kuta resulted in a tragic loss of lives and triggered an unprecedented crisis in Bali. The sudden mass exodus of tourists altered its economy overnight. While the effects have been most visible on the economy, the potential for social tensions has also increased.
Culture of fear
After the Kuta bombing, many businesses were threatened with bankruptcy and many people were laid off. In Bali, the economic crisis has manifested an escalating xenophobia. Increasingly, people from outside the island are seen as a threat to Balinese people's economic and social stability. At the socio-political level, a number of groups are capitalising on a general atmosphere of fear by taking steps towards remilitarising society, reminiscent of the New Order period. For example, in Bali, local thugs (preman) now command their own price to maintain security. At the national level, some politicians have demanded that the government reinstate the Anti-Subversion Law. Parallel to this, the Australian government has promoted Kopassus as their partner in the War on Terror. Many of the recovery efforts have done little to address these issues and their regressive social effects.
A better political and economic order
Governments need to examine the political and economic contexts in which terrorist organisations evolve. Certainly, economic insecurity breeds terrorism. In Bali, recovery efforts need to take this into account. Ultimately, priority must be given to economic and social development, as well as justice and law enforcement.
Many world leaders espouse that free trade, open markets and public-private partnerships are key to overcoming the political, economic and even social instability. But these efforts mean little if the community is not involved. In Indonesia, free trade needs to include the democratisation of political and economic power, placing the military under civilian control, and the ongoing devolution of power from the centre.
The Indonesian government has asked CGI participants to help with the recovery effort by funding new development programs in Bali. But the government really needs to utilise this opportunity to renegotiate the current foreign debt. Unfortunately, Indonesian leaders have focused too much on adherence to IMF structural adjustment policies, at the expense of common Indonesians. Raising prices of basic commodities during the crisis created by the Kuta bombing reveals a lack of insight.
A number of crucial actions remain to be taken at the macro-economic level, in the interests of overseeing a complete recovery in the bomb's aftermath. Firstly, the government must provide for basic human needs, including food, health, education and a clean environment through a social security system. Priority should be given to those who have been directly affected by the Kuta bombing. It should also create employment through spending on much needed infrastructure in Bali as well as Indonesia.
Secondly, bureaucratic processes by which people register their businesses should be streamlined. This would enable such businesses better access to capital investment and over the long term, legitimate businesses will generate more tax revenue for the local government. This in turn would allow the government to assist farmers in rural areas, who are indirectly affected by the economic crisis.
Thirdly, a moratorium on Indonesia's debt needs to be instituted immediately. Donor institutions need to be made accountable for loans made in bad faith, where official corruption was ignored or factored into the terms of the agreement. This is vital, as it would help to restore the Indonesian people's faith in global financial institutions. It would also temporarily relieve fiscal pressure and ensure the availability of funds needed to get through the crisis.
The tragedy has become a learning process as well as a time for reflection for us all. It is essential to the future of Indonesia that together we build the faith necessary to create a better social and economic order, free of fear, in an atmosphere of democracy, justice and responsibility.
Ngurah Karyadi (gembrong@ eudoramail.com) has been active in Balinese student and non-government organisations since the late 1980s.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Balinese people favour green initiatives in recovery effort
Christine Foster
Many people, whether members of the multi-ethnic and multinational community living on Bali, officials and businessmen from Jakarta, or groups and aid agencies from abroad, are committed to helping Bali recover from the recent tragedy. The reasons are numerous: economic disaster looms on the horizon; its pristine image is now tarnished by the phrase 'soft target'; its people suffer endemic corruption, and mismanaged development. Post-bomb Bali has been inundated by benefit concerts, fund-raising dinners, media campaigns and action plans to restore, revitalise, and repair Bali. Among it all, a deeper dilemma is emerging, one which demands honesty about the serious environmental and social problems in Bali from all those involved in the massive recovery movement in Bali.
No paradise
The Kuta bombing showed the world that in stark contrast to its heavenly image in the tourist brochures, Bali is not immune to terrorist attacks. Indeed, even before the bomb, one need only encounter a drug dealer or pimp in Kuta's chaotic streets, gaze upon the garbage piles lining roads, or wade through a flood in the rainy season to see that all was not well on the island. The many environmental, social and economic issues plaguing Bali stem from years of Jakarta-led developmentalism and official corruption. The well-intentioned billions (yes billions) of dollars pledged to restore Bali must overcome rampant greed, and rampant bureaucracy in order to be properly spent, and consensus on how to do it is slow in coming.
It must be kept in mind that Bali-cum-paradise was not developed exclusively by, or even for, the Balinese. For decades, the Indonesian government's grand development scheme for the island focused primarily on mega-projects for tourism, relying on Jakarta or foreign investors to build the hotels and tourist attractions, and aid agencies like the World Bank to provide loans for the roads, waterworks and other infrastructure necessary to support a mass-tourism industry. The explosive pace of development in the southern part of Bali where most tourism is based set the tone for the next decade of unrestrained development. Well-financed investors from outside were free to do as they liked, and the Balinese followed suit with shops, galleries and bungalows, often selling ancestral land to finance these small-scale projects. Regional master plans drawn up by the government to ensure environmental sustainability, or even the quality of life for Bali residents, was easily altered to accommodate wealthy, well-connected investors.
The great roads built to serve the tourists have attracted smaller but no less aggressive investors who have erected strip malls, villas, and other tourist based businesses. Development planning was inadequate, and long before the bomb, the island's too few roads weren't wide enough for the tourist-laden buses, its water distribution system couldn't deliver adequate water to residents (though golf courses were eternally green and swimming pools filled) and land in the developed parts of Bali had reache8 prices far beyond the reach of the average Balinese.
Those who were lucky enough to have a helping hand onto the tourism bandwagon now face a bleak immediate future. Since that fateful night in Kuta, hotel occupancy in many establishments has plummeted to single digits. Though the holidays saw a brief surge of arrivals of mostly domestic tourists to the island, they have, for the most part, returned home. Many believe that a US-led assault on Iraq in early 2003 will keep the majority tourists away for at least a few more months, and will most certainly affect bookings for the high season of June-August. Then there is Indonesia's national election in 2004, which holds no promises to be peaceful. Few tourists walk the towns of Kuta, Sanur and Ubud and many workers, especially those in the substantial informal sector of the tourism industry, have been sent home to wait for better days.
Recovery, big business-style
Bn the meantime, the Indonesian Government, foreign aid agencies, non-government organisations (NGOs), companies and private individuals have embarked on various campaigns and initiatives to help Bali recover. The biggest and most recent is 'Bali for the World', a well-funded campaign initiated by Kadin, the Indonesian Business Association. Initially, the Bali for the World Committee came to the island with lots of money and little understanding of the real issues facing post-bomb Bali. Over the holidays, the Committee sponsored a series of highly publicised public concerts, and invited high-level bureaucrats from Jakarta to watch dancers clad in Hollywood renditions of Balinese traditional dress sing songs of hope and peace. With the President and her husband, Mr. Taufik Kiemas the centre of media attention, the events left many Balinese to wonder why the government and well-connected business people from Jakarta would spend seventy billion rupiah (A$ 13 million) for a series of mega-concerts when the money could be used more effectively to fix some of Bali's more serious problems, like mounting garbage, scarce urban water supply or even an antiquated education system. Made Nurbawa, of the Indonesian environmental organisation Walhi, felt that Balinese were ready to move on and were annoyed by the ongoing post-tragedy campaigns, speeches and events. Of the recent concert series he said, 'I think we need to look at Bali and the world, not Bali for the World.
What the Balinese want is to be quiet (ngeneng). Life needs to slow down. The Balinese have already dealt with the bombing in their own way with the Parisudha Karypurbhaya ceremony'. Balinese organised the ceremony in November 2002 in order to restore the island's cosmic balance.
Homegrown initiatives
Thankfully, the scope of Bali's recovery has expanded beyond Kuta, victims of the bombing, and even the Balinese economy to address issues of social and environmental sustainability. Jakarta and Balinese NGOs are committed to working together in order to benefit the island and its residents. Activists in the recovery effort in Bali are taking steps to ensure that the Balinese are included in decisions about how and where the money is spent.
Among them is activist Viebeke Lengkong, a Kuta resident and a member of the locally based Samigita, a citizen group deeply involved in the Bali Recovery. According to her, the most critical issue facing Bali is 'the potential for social conflict and disintegration stemming from a lack of human security'. Her definition of security includes access to healthcare and education for the Balinese as well as the health of the environment in which they live, especially those in rural areas far from the tourist centers of Bali. 'Communication and cooperation is the most important thing in Bali's recovery,' she comments, describing the key to overcoming the suspicion and corruption that characterised initial recovery efforts.
Recently, well over 1,000 volunteers converged on the village of Catur in the Kintamani area to plant a total of 50,000 trees alongside local villagers in a forest vital for the island's watershed. The aim of this project was to raise awareness about illegal logging, a practice that has been running rampant in Bali and elsewhere in Indonesia. Among the volunteers were village residents, government officials, activists, members of the military as well as expatriates. This same program, sponsored in parp by the Bali for the World Organizing Committee, will be repeated in coming months in other regencies in Bali.
Other planned campaigns, not all funded by Jakarta, include instituting permanent garbage collection and recycling schemes, revamping Bali's public healthcare system, and campaigning for sustainable urban planning. These homegrown development initiatives reveal that the Balinese are acutely aware of the negative impacts tourism development has had on their island, and are taking steps to repair the mistakes of the past. For the time being, no one can find the magic mantra to bring back all of those dollar-laden tourists back to the island. In all honesty, though, Bali has been blessed with an opportunity to become more than an icon of paradise in the collective imagination. By implementing sustainable solutions to long term environmental and social problems, the Balinese are taking steps to help their embattled island and in the process, improving their own standard of living.
Christine Foster (luhbulan@denpasar.wasantara.net.id) is currently studying Sustainable Development at Murdoch University in Perth.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2004
The Bali bombings reveal the failings of Australian-Indonesian intelligence co-operations
David Wright Neville
The terrorist bombings of the Sari Club and Paddy's Bar last October confirmed what many Indonesia watchers had been loathe to admit; that a small number of Indonesian Muslims have embraced a violent fanaticism once viewed as a peculiarly Middle Eastern phenomenon.
That this might be the case proved difficult to accept mainly because it challenged accepted wisdom that Indonesian Islam was and remained culturally discrete - a mostly benign tradition unsullied by the demagoguery of extremist Islamist agendas in other parts of the world.
As writers such as Bob Hefner have pointed out, Indonesian Islam has always been marked by a vibrant pluralism. Moreover, those who would compartmentalise it into a neatly defined 'apolitical' category were guilty of a romantic Orientalism that denied historical and contemporary realities. Indonesian Islam has never been impervious to cultural and political influences in other parts of the world, and nor will it be in the future.
Short-sighted
For anybody even remotely aware of the cultural dynamics in a globalised world, it should have come as no surprise that some Indonesian Muslims would find parallels between their own predicament and the worldviews and political messages emanating from distant corners of the Islamic world. It was similarly predictable that those who peddle such messages would target Indonesian Muslims. Yet these possibilities appeared to have been lost on both the Australian and Indonesian intelligence communities.
Right up until early 2002, Indonesia watchers in the Australian intelligence community dismissed reports of growing contacts between al Qaeda and militants in Indonesia as irrelevant. One especially sceptical senior intelligence official ridiculed such reports with a dismissive wave of the hand coupled by a derogatory reference to 'mad muzzies'.
This short sightedness is partly attributable to the resilience of stereotypes of Indonesians, and other foreigners for that matter, within the Australian foreign policy and security bureaucracy. But it also reflects a general ignorance, at senior policy levels in particular, of global cultural and political dynamics and their impact on individual communities.
In the case of the Australian intelligence community, these shortcomings are rooted in the rarefied atmosphere within which analysts work. In brief, it is an environment that discourages open exchange with outside experts, especially in academe or the private sector. There is a refusal to accept that such exchanges can be useful even without the disclosure of classified material.
More than a decade ago the CIA recognised the intellectual atrophy that can incubate within an overly restricted analytical environment. After all, the CIA habitually over-estimated the former Soviet Union's military prowess and then failed to predict its collapse.
Since then, CIA analysts have actively solicited counter-views to those that prevail within the intelligence establishment. Conferences are regularly convened with outside experts, including critical and even leftwing voices, to try and minimise the dangers posed by analyses generated within closed environments. If, in the American case, good analyses fail to generate good policies, at least there is the White House to blame.
Not so in Australia. After failing to predict the fall of Suharto, the pogrom in East Timor, the election of Abdurahman Wahid, his fall, and the rise of Islamist terrorism one would think that the CIA's Australian counterparts would be seeking to solicit a similar range of views, if for no other reason than to expose the Indonesia 'experts' to a dose of reality. Sadly, this does not seem to be the case.
Dummy
Supplementing engagement with 'outside experts' are bilateral intelligence exchanges, or 'Intellex', whereby Australian officials from Australian agencies meet with their foreign counterparts to discuss issues of mutual interest. Mostly these exchanges with Asian counterparts amount to little more than a diplomatic t�te-�-tote, with generalities exchanged but very little discussion of specifics.
On rare occasions such meetings generate valuable snippets of information and analytical insights. Yet there is little chance of this happening with Indonesian services because since the East Timor crisis Indonesian agencies, the State Intelligence Co-ordinating Agency (Bakin), the Armed Forces Strategic Intelligence Agency (Bais) and the State Intelligence Agency (BIN), have refused to meet formally with their Australian counterparts.
On-going indignation within Indonesian intelligence circles at Australia's alleged support for pro-independence groups in East Timor has meant that Australia's meagre intelligence assets in Indonesia have had to take on the burden. This makes the task of mapping the organisational spread and operational strength of groups like Jemaah Islamiyah extremely difficult.
It may surprise many to learn that Australia has a comparatively small foreign intelligence capability, effectively 'out-sourcing' much of the information it needs to exchanges with friendly services within the UK-USA alliance that links Australian intelligence to the United States, United Kingdom, Canada and New Zealand. At the very least, Australia's small intelligence capabilities belie the delusions of regional grandeur evinced by that antipodean Napoleon John Howard and his nonsensical threats of unilateral pre-emptive military action against suspected terrorist targets in the region.
But herein lies another major problem from the Australian perspective. There is a perception in Indonesia, and Southeast Asia more generally, that Australia is an unreliable intelligence partner. In particular, the soothing affirmations of camaraderie and regional brotherhood whispered by Canberra's Southeast Asian diplomats are belied by Australia's image as an outpost of US foreign policy, Washington's Far Eastern branch office within which John Howard serves proudly as chief clerk.
Moreover, in the current climate, with Washington determined to play the lead and supporting roles in the War on Terror (and Australia reduced to a walk-on bit part) Jakarta knows it can deal directly with Washington on counter-terrorism issues. In other words, why talk to the dummy when you can go straight to the ventriloquist?
Australian officials have worked hard to overcome this problem which, to be fair, is more the making of political leaders in Canberra and Jakarta rather than intelligence officials per se. And since the Bali attacks it appears as though some sensibility has been reinjected into the relationship in the form of a new spirit of cooperation between the Indonesian police and the Australian Federal Police.
However, it remains to be seen whether the relationship can be rebuilt on the back of the Bali investigation. But even if it can, there are other problems that need to be dealt with.
Risks
There is little doubt about the determination of some Indonesian intelligence officials to work closely with their Australian counterparts. But their efforts are often hobbled by several deeply embedded structural problems; in particular, the politicisation of Indonesian intelligence and inter-service rivalries.
There is little evidence to suggest that military intelligence in particular has reformed its ways. It is difficult to separate Bakin from TNI's overall command structure, and just as regional TNI commands are riddled by corruption and a sense that they alone know what's best for their own region and the nation as a whole, so too do Indonesian intelligence agencies connected to TNI, notably Bais and Bakin.
This is not to suggest that BIN is much better. The erratic performance of BIN's mercurial head, Hendropriyono, his mishandling of allegations of an al Qaeda-linked training facility in Poso, as well as allegations he was complicit in the murder of Papuan separatist leader Theys Eluay, not to mention his own shady business dealings, have already been well documented.
Of particular concern is evidence that certain elements within the Indonesian intelligence community remain hostile to any negotiated peace in Aceh, West Papua or other trouble spots. The allegation that TNI had a hand in the murder last August of two US citizens and an Indonesian national near the Freeport mine is just one example of the organisation's troubled image. If true, this allegation, and others relating to ceasefire violations in Aceh, raises serious questions about the value of working with Indonesian intelligence.
Why? Because recent research into the evolution of terrorist groups around the world suggests a close correlation between brutalisation at the hands of the state and the tendency by some individuals and groups to resort to terrorism as a mode of political agitation. By cooperating more closely on intelligence matters with an unreformed TNI, Canberra thereby risks abetting a worsening of the terrorist problem in Indonesia.
This risk is especially acute in the area of counter-terrorism, and it would arise in cases where uncorroborated information about a certain individual or group was passed to Indonesian military intelligence for verification. In such a scenario, it would not be unusual for the information to implicate individuals not involved with terrorism per se, but either knowingly or unknowingly associated with insurgency groups or even organisations involved in basic human and civil rights movements.
There is a real risk that such information passed from Australian agencies in the name of counter-terrorist cooperation could enhance TNI's ability to brutalise dissident groups. Apart from the obvious ethical issues involved, co-operation between Australian and Indonesian intelligence agencies in such a scenario risks contributing to the types of abuse of power that feed the community anger and frustrations upon which terrorists feed.
Of course criticisms of this type have been made before. The usual reply, from spokespeople for the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT), and Defence (because Australian intelligence officials will neither confirm nor deny), is that intelligence co-operation, like that of defence co-operation, is designed to protect Australian lives. And, they remind us, don't forget those Australian government programs that teach Indonesian security officials how to respect human rights.
This is bunkum. If the Indonesian intelligence community's behaviour up until the East Timor crisis is evidence of the benefits of close cooperation with their Australian counterparts, then it is the type of cooperation that Australians and ordinary Indonesians could well do without.
Dr David Wright Neville (David.WrightNeville@arts.monash.edu.au)is a Senior Research Fellow at Monash University's Global Terrorism Research Project.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
No joy for extremists in post-bomb Indonesia
Ed Aspinall
Immediately after the bombings in Bali on 12 October, there was much speculation in the foreign, especially Australian, press, that this was a watershed event for Indonesian politics. Nothing in the country would now be the same, or so the commentators argued. Political alignments would shift, the military would reassert itself, Islamic radicalism surge and the country face international isolation.
Certainly, it is possible to imagine circumstances in which some of the dramatic predictions might have been realised. In particular, the way that the government responded to the bombings was crucial for Indonesia's relations with the outside world. If foreign powers like Australia and, especially, the US had judged it was not seriously investigating the attack, or, worse still, turning a blind eye to its perpetrators, then Indonesia could have become a pariah state, with disastrous consequences.
Instead, the outcome on this score has been close to the reverse. There was unprecedented, large-scale and effective cooperation between Indonesian and foreign police. Within weeks, those responsible began to be arrested and foreign officials heaped praise on the government and police. Indonesia had won its spurs as a reliable ally in the War on Terror.
In the context of the surprisingly effective police response, most of the more dramatic predictions have not come true.
The myth of military omnipotence
In particular, the Bali bombing did not become a pretext for a political resurrection for the Indonesian military (TNI), even if some generals tried to use it for this purpose. For example, immediately after the bombing, the hardline Army Chief of Staff, Ryamizard Ryacudu, ordered the army hierarchy to 're-open the intelligence network' and stated that there should be no further talk of abolishing the military's territorial structure.
It is true that the post-September 11 world and Megawati's Indonesia represent an increasingly benign climate for the TNI. Immediately after the downfall of President Suharto in May 1998, the TNI was excoriated domestically and internationally for its record of human rights abuses. Officers felt that their institution was under siege.
Nowadays, President Megawati herself is sympathetic to the views of many of the more hardline generals (Ryamizard is reportedly a personal favourite). After September 11 and, especially Bali, senior US, Australian and other Western officials made many public comments about the need to restore military cooperation with Indonesia, adding further to TNI officers' views that human rights are moving off the international agenda.
It is no surprise that there are reports that some officers privately believe that it is only a matter of time before military dominance over politics will be restored. There have certainly been many signs of increased military confidence, such as the string of acquittals in the East Timor human rights trials. On the ground, especially in places like Papua and Aceh, military brutality remains common.
However, Indonesia still has a very long way to go before the military's dominance is restored. New anti-terrorism regulations, for example, do little to enhance the military's power. Even on core issues of security policy, there are signs that the hawks do not have it all their own way. For example, the December 2002 peace agreement in Aceh (see the article in this issue) may be vulnerable to sabotage by military hardliners, but it came about despite their frequently-stated objections to dialogue with 'separatists'.
Despite the existence of hardline elements within it, the TNI remains greatly constrained by continuing public suspicion and hostility. While there has been much disillusionment with the outcome of reformasi, there is not (yet) any general clamour in the urban middle classes, let alone other parts of the population, for the return of authoritarian rule. One poll, conducted by the newspaper Kompas last October, revealed that only 42 per cent of respondents believed that the TNI had a 'good image', down from 58 per cent a year earlier.
Most officers recognise this poor public image, and it accounts for their circumspection when dealing with political issues. Hence, Armed Forces Commander General Endriartono Sutarto repeatedly stressed that TNI would not take advantage of the new anti-terrorism rules and the post-bombing climate to stage a political comeback.
The bombings and associated security atmosphere may thus have marginally strengthened the hands of the military, but not to the dramatic degree first feared.
Challenges for Muslims
A second important consequence of the Bali bombings has been to increase the isolation of hardline Islamist groups which advocate violence, although here too we shouldn't exaggerate the impact.
It is well known that the majority of Indonesia's Muslim community supports religious tolerance and pluralism. Even so, since 1998 small hardline and violent groups have flourished. Underlying causes are complex, but immediate political factors have been influential. For example, it is widely believed that elements from TNI supported some militant groups, including the Jihad Militia (Laskar Jihad) which sent several thousand fighters to participate in communal conflict in Maluku.
In addition, leaders of mainstream Islamic organisations (former President Abdurrahman Wahid was a notable exception) were often reluctant to confront the militants and their ideas. Vice-President Hamzah Haz, head of the Muslim United Development Party (PPP) even visited Ja'far Umar Thalib, the head of Laskar Jihad, and Abu Bakar Ba'asyir, alleged Jemaah Islamiyah leader, when they were being detained for, or accused of instigating, violent acts. Some mainstream Muslim leaders also tacitly endorsed violence when they believed Muslims were under attack (for example, Amien Rais, speaker of the People's Consultative Assembly, in 2000 publicly backed groups which wanted to go to Maluku to engage in jihad).
Early after the bombing, as Greg Fealy explains in this issue, there were widely aired views in the Islamic community that such a heinous act could not possibly have been perpetrated by Muslims and must instead have been the work of foreign intelligence agencies. The police investigation initially reinforced suspicions about victimisation of Muslim groups, but the evidence it turned up eventually, it seems, convinced much of the public that an Islamist network was indeed responsible. This has significantly changed the climate in which militant Islamist groups operate. Leaders like Hamzah Haz have been forced to disavow their former flirtation with hardline groups.
There have also been signs (actually first visible some weeks before the bombings) that the security forces are taking a tougher line against violent groups, evidenced by arrests of leaders of Laskar Jihad and the 'anti-vice' vigilante group, the Islamic Defenders' Front (FPI). After the Bali bombings, General Endriartono Sutarto several times stated that all informal militia in the country should be disbanded, a step taken by Laskar Jihad and FPI (although at least in the former case apparently having more to do with internal problems than government pressure).
In the wake of the bombings, many liberal Muslim intellectuals adopted a primarily defensive posture, reiterating that Islam has nothing to do with terrorism. At times, it appeared there was almost a syndrome of denial that Islamic doctrine could be used to justify violence. Some Muslim leaders, however, took the offensive and moved to more vigorously promote religiously liberal and pluralistic ideas (see box).
Consolidation of a new political order
A third conclusion one may draw after the Bali bombings is that, despite the authorities' successes in tracking down the perpetrators, Megawati's government has been unable to reap many political benefits. Much public praise has been directed toward the police (with many letter-writers telling newspapers that this was the first time they had ever felt proud of the Indonesian police forces).
But in the highest ranks of government there were many signs of the familiar bickering among cabinet members and policy drift. Megawati herself initially reacted astutely, visiting the site of the bombing the day after it took place. But within days, she had reverted to her normal remote style, and there was little sign of either symbolic or effective policy leadership on her part.
Megawati's performance thus reinforced growing dissatisfaction with her personal leadership style, not only in the broad public but also in within the ranks of her own party, the Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle (PDI-P). Sections of the party were critical of her decision to endorse the re-election of Jakarta mayor Sutiyoso (who is widely believed by Megawati's supporters to be responsible for a 1996 military attack on their party's headquarters). In recent months some senior party members have voiced increasingly explicit criticisms of the government and its performance.
Even so, Megawati still ranks consistently highest in popularity polls for future presidential candidates. Despite early predictions in some quarters, the Bali bombing and its aftermath have not appreciably improved the prospects of a 'green' Islamic ticket (probably with Amien Rais as its chief candidate) in 2004 elections.
Overall, then, what can we conclude about Indonesian politics after the Bali bombings? Above all, the violence and the response to it seem to have reinforced previously visible trends. Some of the tumult of the immediate post-Suharto period is dying down (though it can easily erupt again, especially in response to Indonesia's economic and social crisis, as a series of large demonstrations against price rises in January illustrate). The more extreme and violent Islamist groups are on the defensive. The worst communal violence in places like Maluku and Poso in Central Sulawesi seems to be declining. There are even signs, if not of permanent solutions, at least of reduced tensions in Aceh and Papua. The military is more confident. The government is still ineffective, but it looks stable.
A new hybrid political order is settling into place. Indonesia does not have a perfect democracy with full-scale civilian supremacy, human rights, effective law enforcement, social justice and the like. But nor is it a system where the military and central government bureaucrats determine the fate of the country like they once did.
Ed Aspinall (edward.aspinall@ asia.usyd.edu.au) is an IRIP board member and lecturer in Asian Studies at the University of Sydney.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
The public teachings of Abu Bakar Ba'asyir
Tim Behrend
Two weeks after the attacks on the Kuta nightclubs, Indonesian police arrested Abu Bakar Ba'asyir on suspicion of involvement in terrorist activities in Indonesia. The charges against him relate to a series of bombings which preceded, and do not include, the Bali bombing, but he has gained international notoriety for his links to the alleged perpetrators of the Bali attack, many of whom referred to him in their confessions to Indonesian police (see box). According to the International Crisis Group, an independent think tank based in Belgium, Ba'asyir is unlikely to have masterminded the bomb, but probably knows more about it than he is willing to divulge. In the article below, Tim Behrend argues that Ba'asyir's public teachings do not advocate violence. Clearly, Ba'asyir is a controversial figure. Is he a misunderstood preacher, or does he mean to incite violence? We welcome readers' reactions to the following article, which attempts to understand this ambiguous figure.
Government authorities in Singapore, Malaysia, the Philippines and the United States have singled out an Indonesian cleric, Abu Bakar Ba'asyir, accusing him of being the spiritual leader of Jemaah Islamiyah (JI), a shadowy organisation of Islamic extremists 'aim[ing] to set up a pan-Islamic state in Southeast Asia ' through terrorist means and revolution'. They have assumed links beween JI and al Qaeda, and dubbed Ba'asyir the Osama bin Laden of Southeast Asia. From December 2001 they were urging Indonesia to take a stand against international terrorism and arrest Ba'asyir, basing their concern on information gained through the intense interrogation of mostly uncharged, untried political detainees rounded up in post-September 11 terrorist dragnets.
Indonesian officials resisted, claiming rightly that there was no basis in Indonesian law to act on these requests. But after the horrific Kuta nightclub bombings on 12 October 2002, Ba'asyir was fingered by those same governments as the probable Indonesian point man for the attack. Subsequently, Indonesian police arrested Ba'asyir in relation to an earlier series of bombings; charges have not yet been entered for the Bali crime.
The international media remains as convinced today as in the first hours after the blast that Ba'asyir, JI, and al Qaeda are linked to the Bali ombings. Experts on the international lecture circuit continue to expound on Ba'asyir's politics and religious teachings, though few of them have first hand access to the sermons and writings in which Ba'asyir has widely expressed his views; fewer still have the language and cultural skills required to analyse these materials.
In this article, I temporarily put aside the secret prison confessions of uncharged political detainees, the circumstantial evidence of personal and religious associations, and the fear-mongering hype of pundits in the corporate media, and instead examine Ba'asyir's persona on the basis of what he has verifiably said and done. He is, after all, a public figure, not a cave-dwelling shadow. He has been actively engaged in an open exchange on what Indonesia is and should be. What he has contributed to that discourse should not be treated as if it didn't exist.
Abubakar who?
Ba'asyir was born in 1938 in a small town in East Java. His father and grandfather were Hadrami immigrants, his mother of mixed Yemeni and Javanese descent. He boarded from 1959-1963 at Gontor, a well-known modernist Islamic boarding school (pesantren) in Madiun. Afterwards he continued his studies at an Islamic university in Solo majoring in dakwah, the Islamic equivalent of missionary studies.
His politics began in the Islamic Masyumi party, but became progressively radicalised. He indulged in provocative symbolic resistance to the Suharto regime, refusing to fly the Indonesian flag or display presidential icons at the Islamic boarding school, al mukmin, based in the Ngruki neighbourhood of Solo, Central Java, that he co-founded in 1971. Further, he generally considered the secularist Indonesian state to have no validity for Muslims and publicly resisted accepting the state Pancasila philosophy as the formal foundational principle for all social organisations.
Ba'asyir was jailed without trial for a number of years. In 1985 he and others fled to Malaysia to escape further imprisonment. Only after Suharto's fall did he return from exile, part of a tidal flow of repatriating Islamist refugees.
Back in Indonesia, Ba'asyir returned to Ngruki as a teacher and helped found an Islamist non-government organisation called the Council of Indonesian Mujahidin (Majelis Mujahidin Indonesia MMI), and resumed his roles as polemicist and preacher with a growing national reputation. After September 2001 he was catapulted to regional then international notoriety by the accusations made against him in the reactive anti-terror campaigns. With Bali he became one of the most recognisable figures of the world terrorist pantheon.
Suddenly print and broadcast media from CNN to the local radio station were populated by newly minted analysts and commentators, themselves anxious to understand, and help explain to others, what was happening in Indonesia. Many were forced to scramble their way up a steep learning curve, in the process cannibalising one another's ideas in a frenzy of mutually uncited paraphrasing. One idea that continuously appeared was the notion that a radical redrawing of national boundaries was a central tenet of Southeast Asian Islamists. 'The plan is breathtaking - to create one Islamic state from Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore to parts of the Philippines, Thailand and Myanmar,' according to CNN's Maria Ressa in one version of this idea. Ba'asyir was said to openly campaign for this Islamic super state.
Ba'asyir's public profile
In November and December 2002, I spent several weeks interviewing Ba'asyir, his associates at al Mukmin, members of MMI, and other 'hard line' Islamists. Based on those interviews, a review of Ba'asyir's available writings, and a five-hour underground video CD series of his sermons entitled Understanding Key Concepts in the Teachings of the Islamic Faith, I have not found evidence to suggest that he preaches the overthrow of Indonesia and its replacement with a pan-Southeast Asian Islamic super state.
Ba'asyir does speak regularly and in blanket terms of the moral bankruptcy of the Indonesian state. He preaches the absolute and unique veracity of 'Islam', the need to promote it in society. He rejects the legitimacy of the secular state out of hand (see box).
But he goes farther than simple, if strident, moral absolutism. His political analysis travels far into the realm of conspiracy theory in which international and Indonesian Christianity, together with a cartoonishly-drawn cabal of Jews/ Zionists/ Israelis/ Mossad, combine to divide, corrupt, and undermine Muslims and Islam. A similarly deep vein of anti-Semitism is found in the ideas of other leading members of MMI, particularly its functional chief, Irfan Awwas. In their view the US either perpetrated or allowed September 11 to happen; the American government was also the Machiavellian sponsor of the Bali bombings.
With the exception of his ideas of Islamic moral and civilisational superiority and racially tainted theories of international politics, the thrust of Ba'asyir's teachings is eminently moral: discipline, simplicity, poverty, responsibility, cleanliness, honesty, hard work, dedication, good parenting, good citizenship. Revision of Indonesia's constitution so that it incorporates shari'ah is necessary to enable these virtues to be publicly and universally inculcated. For Ba'asyir, the current environment is far too permissive in general, and fatally flawed by its establishment on kafir principles, including popular democracy, a usurious banking system, social equality of the sexes, and licensing of immoral (and culturally unacceptable) behaviour for economic gain.
But Ba'asyir does not himself publicly advocate violence against the perceived ungodliness of the political system. It must also be emphasised that despite endlessly repeated media claims to the contrary, Ba'asyir does not speak in formal or concrete terms about either the establishment of a Daulah Islam Nusantara, or Southeast Asian Emirate. This political configuration is no more than a gossamer ideal whose formation neither he nor his MMI confederates seriously espouse or actively promote.
Ba'asyir is personally a man of simplicity, religious devotion, abstinence, and discipline. His politics are naive, and only selectively informed. He is devoid of critical, comparative knowledge of world history. He is deeply rooted in a tradition that nourishes anti-Jewish sentiment - as well as other forms of ethnic prejudice - and he in turn has come to embrace conspiratorial forms of anti-Semitism. In short, there is little about Ba'asyir's politics that can be praised, and much that is troublesome.
Despite his patent monoculturalism, Ba'asyir's message challenging the assumptions of American and Western dominance (which he calls cultural terrorism) and offering an alternative view of modernity is timely and fully in tune with international currents. And it is certainly not illegal. An Indonesian democracy worthy of the name must protect even the grating voice of Ba'asyir until proven guilty, however outside the mainstream of majoritarian politics, however out of harmony with the generally liberal and secular opinions that characterise Indonesia today. Anything less would be a step backwards towards the repressive policies and Muslim-muzzling of the Suharto years.
Tim Behrend (t.behrend@auckland.ac.nz) is a lecturer at Auckland University. A more detailed version of this article can be viewed at www.arts.auckland.ac.nz/ asia/tbehrend/
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Conspiracy theories in post-bomb Indonesia
Greg Fealy
In the months following the 12 October 2002 Bali bombings, Indonesia was awash with conspiracy theories regarding the identity of the perpetrators and the methods used to blow up the two nightclubs. Most of these theories attributed blame for the attacks to foreigners of one sort or another. The most popular accounts claimed that the US government masterminded the attacks and provided the necessary high explosive materials and bomb-making expertise. A succession of media polls in late October and November showed a majority of respondents thought the US was behind the bombings and one 'Detikcom' survey revealed 70 per cent blamed the CIA (see box). Other theories suggested Mossad, MI-6 or one of Australia's intelligence agencies was involved, and several asserted that the bombings were the work of foreign al-Qaeda operatives.
With the exception of a number of allegations that the Indonesian armed forces or intelligence services might have been complicit, nearly all the conspiracy theories downplayed or denied the involvement of Indonesians, particularly in planning the attack and assembling the bombs. It was argued that Indonesian extremist groups lacked both the ability to organise such a sophisticated operation and the expertise to put together bombs as powerful as that which destroyed the Sari Club. Such theories remained popular even after the police arrested a string of key suspects and began releasing detailed information regarding the terrorist activities of Indonesia-based Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) members.
Conspiracism
This preoccupation with conspiracy theories, often referred to as conspiracism, is not unique to Indonesia. There is a substantial scholarly literature recording the phenomenon at many points in history and in many parts of the world. Conspiracism is especially common in deprived, traumatised or repressed communities where reliable information is scarce, intra-communal mistrust is high and the state is given to arbitrary abuse of its citizens.
In the Indonesian case, seldom has conspiracism been so pervasive as in the aftermath of Bali bombings. This would seem to reflect a sense that the world is now more hostile towards Indonesia and that Western nations and foreign corporations are seeking to exploit the country's economic and political problems for their own ends. Many Indonesians cite the 1997 financial crisis and East Timor's independence as evidence of the West's role in undermining national integrity. There is also a widespread view that separatist movements in West Papua and Maluku receive Western support.
Indonesian conspiracy theorists therefore tended to see the attacks in Bali as a continuation, if not culmination, of a broader US project of domination. Many believe that the US carried out or sanctioned the attacks in order to discredit and weaken Indonesia as well as reinforce perceptions of Islam as a violent religion. The US could thus step up pressure on the Megawati government to crack down on Islamists and support the Bush administration's proposed war against Iraq.
Part of the reason for the popularity of the conspiracy theories following the Bali bombing was the extent of press coverage given to them. Predictably, the more strident sections of the Islamist press such as Sabili, Media Dakwah and Jurnal Islam gave prominence to alleged international plots.
The case of Republika
Perhaps less expected was the role of Republika, the leading 'Islamic' daily, in promoting conspiracy theories about the Bali bombing. For the past decade, Republika has claimed to represent the quality end of the Islamic press with high standards of reporting, analysis and presentation. But in fact, of all the major dailies, Republika's coverage was the most journalistically questionable and served to fan conspiracy theories relating to the bombing.
In late October and early November, a number of conspiracy theories were given prominence in Republika. The first was that the Australian government may have played a role in the bombing and was engaged in a cover-up. It reported that a 'key eyewitness' to the Paddy's Bar bombing, Kadek Alit Margarini, had been 'forcibly' evacuated by Australian officials without the approval of her family and Indonesian doctors and had died in an Australian hospital on 19 October. She was cremated shortly afterwards, without the family's permission and without an autopsy.
The paper said various aspects of the Kadek case were suspicious. It reported staff at Sanglah Hospital in Denpasar as saying that the patient was stable prior to evacuation, but that Australian doctors had insisted she be flown to Perth. A later story quoted an unnamed Indonesian doctor as being shocked by news of her death, saying that her condition had not been that serious. Furthermore, it quoted an Indonesian forensic expert as asking why there had been no autopsy prior to cremation. 'If the victim was cremated immediately, then the question arises - what was there to hide?' (25 October and 15 November 2002). Although not stated explicitly, the articles insinuated that Australian officials had irresponsibly expatriated Kadek, and possibly played a hand in her demise, in order to prevent her from telling what she had seen.
Republika also reported that the corpses of four Australian soldiers had mysteriously 'disappeared' from the bombsite without ever being registered with the Sanglah Hospital morgue. Furthermore, it reported that nurses handling corpses had been told by the hospital not to discuss the issue. An unnamed forensics expert said that the bodies may have disappeared because they were 'important material evidence' or were 'closely connected to the Bali bombing case'. The article went on to mention that several US and Australian navy ships had docked in Balinese ports in the months preceding the bombing. It said that one of the Australian vessels, the 'logistics' ship Westralia, made an 'unofficial visit' (12 November 2002). No direct connection was drawn between the 'missing corpses' and the naval visits, but the placement of the stories seemed designed to suggest to the reader that the soldiers may have entered Bali on one of the ships.
In its search for far-fetched accounts of the bombing, Republika turned up the Western Australia-based Joe Vialls, whom it generously described as a 'private investigator' and 'explosives and intelligence analyst'. Vialls might be more accurately labelled an extreme right-wing professional conspiracy theorist. His website (www.geocities.com/vialls/) is filled with virulently anti-Semitic and anti-US views. For example, he asserts that the Bali bombing, the Port Arthur massacre and the death of Princess Diana were all sinister international plots and that Australia had become a 'test bed' for the 'New World Order'.
Republika quoted Vialls as saying that the Bali bomb had actually been a micro-thermonuclear device, not conventional explosive as had been asserted by the Indonesian and international investigators. (This theory seems to have first appeared on the website of the conservative US radio talk program, the Hal Turner Show in mid-October). He also claimed that the Australian government had tried to cover up evidence supporting this finding by deleting the eyewitness account of an army captain on the Australian army's official website and had also ordered raids against Indonesians suspected of JI involvement in order to divert public attention away from the issue. He furthermore asserted that the US, Israeli and Australian governments pressured the investigators to blame Muslims for the bombing (10 and 13 November 2002). Vialls was reported as an expert commentator and no attempt was made to test the plausibility of his theories.
Perhaps the most surreal theory carried in Republika was that CIA, Mossad, MI-6 and Asio agents had descended on Bali before and after the bombing because they had heard there was going to be 'war' between 'narcotics networks'. These agencies 'wanted to use (menumpangi - lit., ride on) the war for their own objectives'. The rival intelligence services were then said to have got involved in a 'battle' which had left 20 Australian agents dead. The source for this story was 'intelligence sources' (12 November 2002). No supporting evidence was presented in the article and there was no indication of any attempt to corroborate the story.
At one level, Republika's peddling of conspiracy theories regarding the Bali bombings represents a lamentable failure to uphold journalistic standards, particularly in a paper that aspires to be a journal of record. The most improbable of explanations were routinely passed off as worthy of serious consideration. Moreover, insinuation and implication took the place of rigorous investigation and analysis. In effect, Republika alluded to sinister covert forces having responsibility for the Bali attacks and left the rest to its readers' imaginations.
Republika's lapse in standards might easily be dismissed as nothing more than journalists surrendering to their prejudices. But as scholars of conspiracism have shown, conspiracy theories can have a profound impact on public perceptions and actions. In particular, it can distort public debate, inclining people to believe what is dubious or untrue. In Indonesia, as in many other countries, conspiracy theories have in the past fuelled community conflict, provoked mass protests and led to ill-advised government decisions. The Bali bombings and subsequent revelations about Indonesia-based terrorism raise important issues that require informed and thoughtful responses. Republikaohas served its readers poorly by focussing on fanciful conspiracy theories rather than substantive reporting.
Dr Greg Fealy (greg.fealy@anu.edu.au) is a research fellow and lecturer in Indonesian politics at The Australian National University. He is currently teaching at the Johns Hopkins University School of Advanced International Studies in Washington.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Life in an East Javanese Islamic boarding school
Mayra Walsh
It's still dark, 4.15am, when my close friend Eet, a class 6 student wakes me. I hear sleepy voices and splashing water coming from outside my bedroom window as the small community here at Darur Ridwan slowly comes to life. The microphone in the mosque is tested, a few coughs, and the morning call to prayer begins. In a few minutes everyone will be gathered in the small mosque behind the main house. Eet, a small but very confident and focused young woman who was assigned as my helper when I first arrived, urges me to get up or I'll be late again.
My pesantren, Darur Ridwan, is situated in a small village in the eastern most part of East Java, Banyuwangi. Most of the students, like Eet, come from neighbouring villages, although some have come from as far away as Bali, Surabaya and Sulawesi. They are the daughters of farmers, businessmen, teachers, office workers and house wives who work hard to pay considerably more than the fees at the local school so that their children receive a strong moral and religiously orientated education.
Gathering together to pray at dawn is a refreshing way to start the day here. The atmosphere is clear and cool as I join in the morning prayer with the 60 or so students and several women from neighbouring houses. I wear the all-white prayer clothes, wash my hands, face and feet before entering the mosque, recite the appropriate prayers in Arabic (which I have not fully memorised yet), and take part in the now familiar salat routine stand, bow, stand, kneel, and so on.
Beyond the stereotypes
So what is a non-Muslim, Australian university student doing living at an Islamic boarding school in East Java? I am here as part of the Australian student exchange program, Acicis, doing a field study project. I am here because I want to learn about Islam, and what better way to learn than to totally immerse myself in the subject?
Since the unearthing of the Jemaah Islamiah network in the aftermath of the Bali bomb, international media have depicted Indonesian Islamic boarding schools as 'hot beds' for Islamic extremists. Some people may think I am throwing myself in at the deep end by immersing myself in a community accused of fostering extremism. But I feel that these depictions have made my experiences at Darur Ridwan so much more meaningful, relevant and important. I have had the opportunity to see first hand the reaction of the community here at Darur Ridwan to the Bali bomb blast of 12 October and the ensuing investigation and arrests. I consider myself very privileged to have enjoyed such a unique experience that has been quite different to the image of the unfriendly, anti-Western pesantren portrayed in international media.
As news and footage of the horrific event in Bali came through, I sat on the floor, eyes glued to the small television screen in the main house for hours watching the live reports and becoming increasingly distressed as the number of confirmed victims grew. But I was not alone. Also sitting on the floor with me and in chairs behind me was Pak Kiai, members of his family, several senior students and several teachers. They comforted me and joined with me as we expressed our utter disbelief and extreme grief at seeing so many innocent lives lost and so many more injured.
I talked about the huge and devastating impact the bomb would have on Indonesia and in particular the Balinese community, and also the consequences for relations between Australia and Indonesia. They weren't particularly interested in discussing the political or economic impacts. They talked about the families of the victims and in particular the fact that so many were from Australia. 'There is nothing in the Al Qur'an that supports the murder of innocent people like those tourists in Kuta. These crazy terrorists are distorting true Islamic teaching to suit their own political agenda. Islam is a peaceful religion.'
Modern curriculum
It didn't take me long to feel at home here at Darur Ridwan when I first arrived. Any prior feelings of uncertainty and apprehension were immediately banished as I was warmly welcomed into the community, and in particular, into Pak Kiai Aslam's family.
Pak Kiai Aslam is a friendly, relaxed, family man who enjoys spending time with his young grandchildren and who willingly takes time out to answer my many questions. I appreciate his openness, generosity, enthusiasm, clear explanations and the freedom he has allowed me to wander around the pesantren and join in the everyday activities of the students.
Also an authoritative teacher and strict adherer to religious rules, Pak Kiai Aslam demands a high level of respect and discipline from his students. As the founder and leader of Darur Ridwan, he plays a pivotal role in all aspects of life at the pesantren. A previously active member in local politics (including serving as a member of local parliament representing Partai Persatuan Pembangunan (PPP) for over 10 years) and the large Indonesian Muslim organisation, Nahdlutul Ulama (NU), Pak Kiai Aslam established this modern girls pesantren with his wife in 1989.
An important aspect of pesantren Darur Ridwan is its modernity. The word modern here is used in reference to the school curriculum. In comparison to 'traditional' pesantrens where the curriculum is restricted to religious instruction, Darur Ridwan combines its religiously-oriented classes with general academic subjects such as chemistry, mathematics, psychology and English.
Basic facilities
However the term 'modern' is limited to a description of the curriculum. Facilities at Darur Ridwan are very basic, and although simplicity in everyday life is encouraged, Pak Kiai Aslam and the students are very aware of the impact this has on the quality of life and education at the pesantren.
The living area allocated to the students consists of just three bedrooms which are shared between the 60 girls. One bedroom is shared by 40 of the junior students, and the other two have 10 senior students each. Each student sleeps on a thin mattress on the floor and has a small cupboard for their belongings. During the day the mattresses are stacked in the corner so the space can be used for other activities. There is not enough washing and bathroom facilities and no place for students who get sick. The classrooms are bare except for tables, chairs and a few home made posters; and the library consists of one bookshelf filled mainly with copies of old text books.
This very simple existence however does not dampen the students' enthusiasm for their studies, or my enthusiasm for what I have found to be a community of young people who are dedicated to strengthening their understanding about their religion and working together to create a peaceful and pleasant environment around them. The restricted facilities and strict rules here means that there is not much variety in everyday life for the students who rarely leave the grounds of the pesantren.
The students' daily activities at Darur Ridwan are dictated by the compulsory five daily prayers, beginning with the first prayer (subuh) at 4.30am. School starts at 7.00am (6 days a week) and classes take place in the class rooms until 12 noon. These classes are a mixture of religious instruction which includes a strong focus on Arabic (the language of the Al Qur'an) and general academic subjects. There are also other classes that take place twice a day in the mosque after prayer sessions. These classes are attended by all of the students and are led by Pak Kiai Aslam. At this time students learn to recite the Al Qur'an correctly and Pak Kiai Aslam offers his interpretations and explanations of stories and passages from different holy texts. Due to the intimacy of the environment at the pesantren classes are run in a very relaxed style, though discipline is never an issue.
As in most parts of Indonesia things slow down in the afternoon after 12 noon prayer (dhuhur) as the 4.00am start begins to take its toll and people nod off for an afternoon rest. However after taking a break students are kept busy through the afternoon and evening with extra classes, study, and extra-curricular activities such as scouts, sport, sewing, cooking, the running of the canteen and general maintenance duties. 'Lights out' is at 10.00pm (11.00pm during exam time).
I am very thankful for the hospitality and generosity I have received over the three months since I have been coming to and from Darur Ridwan. I have learnt more than I could have hoped for and have found a new family among my muslim friends here. As the newest member of the community I proudly wear my Darur Ridwan t-shirt and call this my pesantren.
Mayra Walsh (m.walsh@ugrad.unimelb.edu.au) is a student of Indonesian Studies at Melbourne University and attended Darur Ridwan as part of her participation in the Acicis student exchange program.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003